


Terra Cruentus

by HandsOfGold



Series: Amor Antiquus [1]
Category: Powerwolf (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Vampires, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-29
Updated: 2019-07-29
Packaged: 2020-07-25 12:27:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 10
Words: 11,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20025808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HandsOfGold/pseuds/HandsOfGold
Summary: A group of outcast werewolves and vampires has gathered in an abandoned monastery. Leaving behind their old lives and everything they used to be, they hope to escape the demons of their past which haunt them. But when the starring role of Matthew's forgotten days stumbles into the building's overgrown yard, things are bound to change forever...





	1. Adventus

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Cardinal_Sin (HU_shipper)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HU_shipper/gifts).

Listen!"

The four men were gathered around a broad wooden table in the candlelit dusk, sleep still in their eyes. However, after Attila had uttered the word in a hushed yet alarmed way, they all sat up alert. With their heightened senses it was unmistakable that steps were approaching their carefully hidden shelter, their sounds permeating the thick walls of the sacred place turned profane. Somebody was running, breathing heavily, and they saw Attila closing his eyes, undoubtedly travelling out of his mind to mislead the unwanted visitor and keep their veiled sanctum a secret.

Far too early their leader reopened his eyes, a bewildered look on his face.

"He's far too close already," he whispered. Fear was mirrored in everyone's gazes except Attila's. The three men huddled together, Matthew pressed against Roel's chest with Roel's arms wrapped around his torso, Charles' hand on both of their arms. Attila looked at them. They were younger than him, little time had passed since the what you could call rebirth of them, the demons of their human lives were still with them. The isolation had been broken before they could unlearn this fear. He could only await what was to come.

With his lover's arms around his body, Matthew would usually have forgotten about all of his fears if only for a little while. But now they were still there, nagging at him, gnawing their ways into his brain and leaving him frozen in rigour with his eyes wide open. He shivered as he looked at Charles and Roel, both plagued by what appeared to be similar thoughts, and shivered even more as he looked at Attila who was above all of this childish panic. What would he think of the three grown men behaving like little children?

But Matthew would rather accept Attila's resentment than allow everything he had gone through to come back. Thus he whispered:

"Is there nothing you can do?"

"There is nothing," Attila replied gravely.

"He has broken through and there is nothing left for us but to take him in."

Matthew swallowed hard as he broke Roel's embrace gently, shaking off Chales' arm.

"I'll go," he said, his voice cracking, and before words could rise against his offer he had slipped out of the room and into the dark floor. An inch of light came streaming through the crack in the door where he'd left. Matthew had always been self destructive, but this was an entirely different level of it.

\---

Thick and thin branches were lashing into his face, cutting open his cheeks. Thin lines of blood kept trickling down his face, burning in his eyes; the thorns in his feet pained him and the abrasions and bruises all over his body made running so impossible that he thought he must faint any moment. But he did not, could not give up running.

The monsters that were chasing after him were worse than the pain. If their yellow eyes and stinking maws caught him, if their teeth mauled him and injected their poison into his bloodstream he would be off far worse than this. If necessary, he would keep running until he died. Even death, that he was sure of, was better than what awaited him in the hands of those malicious beasts.

His breathing was heavy, almost not breathing but gasping for air, he could still hear their howling in the night or maybe it had just scooped its way into his brain forever, so that he would have to keep hearing it until his last breath. Which, probably and hopefully, wasn't far away anymore.

He was so exhausted he did not think about his surroundings, could not even look at them in the increasing darkness. He had lost track of time and place, there was no way of knowing where he was... until his body collided face first with a cold, rough stone wall. He still did not know where he was but, forced to stop, he inhaled a number of breaths, ready to continue running before the adrenaline wore off, when he noticed that the howling had stopped.

He supported himself on the towering wall and looked up to see a high tower looming in the last light of the sun that had already sunken beneath the horizon. In its upper chamber there seemed to be the faintest shimmer of light, but that might as well be an illusion. Another tower, even higher than the other, turned up in his vision when he turned around, hands on his thighs, still gasping. He thought that he could make out the silhouette of a church, but his eyesight was fading rapidly and it was growing darker by the second.

When he turned back he could spot another wall in the distance, or at least it seemed like a wall, swallowed by the darkness behind what appeared to be a courtyard. Carefully he set one foot in front of the other, feeling his knees so weak they almost gave in. He had to make it to the yard, where a faint moon was lighting the pebbles that covered the ground, the faint light alone seeming like redemption to him. 

What he did was more stumbling than walking, but eventually he had made it into the lit circle of yard. He hadn't planned to give in but his body was exhausted beyond measure, and so he slipped to the ground, eyes directed at the moon, and lay there while the world spun around him and his stomach was turned upside down and his dry throat burned like hellfire.

And that was when he heard the steps.

They were slower than the ones who had hunted him down and cornered him, taken more carefully, but he could not help but fear that they had returned. As he wanted to sit up, find back to his feet, keep running, his body refused. He couldn't do anything but stay on the ground while the world around him started spinning faster and then there was a face in his vision, pale but ethereal, beshone by the pale moonlight, and his breath got caught in his throat and then stopped as he cried out the name, but a finger was pressed onto his lips before he could finish and as his body was no longer supplied with oxygen everything turned black.


	2. Amor Antiquus

It was all his deepest hopes, which were also his deepest fears, come true. This couldn't be possible. He stared at the man, passed out on the gravel, whose short hair was tangled, whose eyes had shown wild horror but had also mirrored the moon. 

He hadn't had short hair.

No, he truly hadn't had short hair, and he never would've cut it. But that had been the man he had known. The man that Benjamin had known, he corrected himself, for Matthew had never known any man like this nor should he ever do so. But the face was so distinctively the face that he- that Benjamin had loved so much in a life long gone, in a life from which only the death of his old self had saved him.

He stood there frozen in shock, his hand still cupping Christian's cheek, not hearing the voices from behind him, the steps coming to him, until somebody shook him from behind and he jerked back.

"Matthew! Is everything okay?" Charles asked, his gaze switching between him and the man on the ground. Matthew prayed that Charles would not notice the cause for his shock, and just as the beginning of a realization seemed to dawn on Charles' face they were joined by Roel and Attila, who came out of the enormous door that creaked whenever you opened it.

Matthew shook his head in small, rapid movements and took his brother's hand. It felt good to have a reassuring presence with him, to be remembered of what and who he was. It brought him from the soaring heights of memories back on the earth, a feeling which only lasted for about as long until he followed Attila's finger loosely pointing at the figure on the ground.

"He didn't say anything, just passed out," Matthew said hoarsely. The lie burned in his soul, but he couldn't let them know. Quickly he stepped back, allowing Roel to put an arm around him to steady him. Then he breathed in deeply, still holding Charles' hand. His brother and his lover were with him. This was how he lived now. There was no need to be afraid anymore.

\---

Later, when Matthew and Roel had retreated into the chamber they shared, Matthew rested his head on his lover's chest, obviously not listening to the calming sound of a beating heart since Roel had been dead for about two years, and he cursed himself for suddenly remembering the way Christian's heart had sounded underneath him. Another sudden realization was the fact that he knew barely anything about the man he loved.

They were not a support groups, they were not here to talk about their traumas. He knew that Roel was from the Netherlands, or rather he had figured that out by the name alone, he knew that he had been transformed into a vampire about three months before he had joined Attila somewhere in the wild, seven months before Matthew and Charles had found them and they had moved into the abandoned monastery. Thanks to Roel Matthew knew his own blood tasted sweet but left a vinegary, acidic taste behind, which didn't come from out nowhere, as Matthew knew but Roel didn't. He also knew that Roel adored the way his blood tasted and that he used to love full moon nights until he had started to be forced to see Matthew undergo a painful transformation in every single one of them. And that was about it. It was crazy how much you could love somebody while barely knowing anything about him.

Christian, on the other hand...

He had loved him like crazy. When he'd been with him there had been no need to eat, sleep, or breathe. It had been destructive love, yes, one that made him forget to care for himself more than he had forgottem amyways, but he had loved him so much. His eyes had been storm grey. His favourite colour had been the colour of Ben- of Matthew's eyes. He could cook very well, especially his favourite foods, which were pasta and sushi. The best concert he'd ever seen had been Iron Maiden, a band that Matthew, in his previous life, when music had still been a thing for him, had loved beyond measure. Almost as much as he had loved Christian. Almost.

And now, as Roel looked at him with his mesmerizing eyes, glistening with a faint shimmer of red in the candlelit dark, and ran his fingers through Matthew's hair, Matthew hated himself for even thinking about Christian. How could he think of another man when Roel looked at him like this? But Christian had been his life, as Roel was now, and Matthew, just as Benjamin had been, was a hurricane lover. He loved with all his being or did not love at all.

"Is really everything okay, Matthew?" Roel asked him softly. Matthew did not answer; he stared into the darkness and traced the flickering shadows on the walls, taken and given free by the candlelight.

"Why don't I know anything?" he finally whispered, more to himself than to Roel, who of course stiffened.

"You know so many things, Matthew," he said. Matthew closed his eyes and smiled. The only reason why Roel said his name so often was the fact that Matthew loved it when he did. In fact, as he noe realized, it was something Christian hadn't done, with his endless supply of cheesy pet names and not-quite-so-serious insults. Whenever Roel said his name, Matthew loved him even a bit more than before.

But his smiled faded soon.

"I know nothing," he said, shaking his head.

"Nothing about you, nothing about me."

"Why don't you find out then?" Roel said, as if it was the most obvious thing on earth. As if their whole existence here wasn't built around forgetting who they were. As if- Matthew sighed. He didn't want to reply, he didn't want to think. In these moments he wanted to lie with Roel and forget the world. But now, that his mind had been overtaken by this old fire, he wished nothing but to cease existing.

Suddenly the door flew open. They hadn't heard Attila approaching, as it was his way, but their leader looked at the couple with a kind of grim satisfaction on his face.

"I've claimed him," he said.

And Matthew's world broke apart.


	3. Initus

"Who are you?"

He could hear a voice, floating around him, coming from a thousand different directions at once, somewhere in the darkness that surrounded him.

Something hurt somewhere on his body, a fire was burning within him but it was cold as ice. He writhed and twisted in pain and he still couldn't see anything but he could hear the voice, again and again.

"Who are you?"

"Ch- Chris-" he finally managed to press out between his teeth that he kept gritted in order not to scream. But the voice laughed.

"Not who you were. I want to know who you are."

And in that second he knew. He knew that something had been done to him, something beyond his grasp, something irrevocable, something that was hurting him so much that he thought it had to bring him to his death. And that knowledge alone was enough to make him black out again.

\---

"He is less strong than I had expected," Attila said to Roel. Red light emitted from a grave light painted ghostly shades on the face of the man in the initiation casket, a model made of pine wood with its inner lining of black velvet; the face was contorted in agony even in unconsciousness.

"If I had known... I would never have claimed him."

"But you have," Roel pronounced the obvious.

"We ought to prepare a grave in the cemetery for him," Attila said gravely, stepping closer to the man. As he stood bent over his lifeless form he put his fingertips to the man's cheeks, touching them so gently that it seemed as though he was caressing him. Roel had never seen their leader be so gentle with anybody before. He wondered what it might mean.

Then, suddenly, there came a groan and the smallest movement of the man's head. Attila jerked back from him, looking at Roel.

"You go out and tell Matthew and Charles that they must not come in here until I step out. If a grave preparation should be necessary I will call on you."

"Yes, of course," Roel nodded and left the room with brisk steps, shutting the door tight behind him to leave Attila alone with the man who kept moaning and tossing in his half-conscious state of mind. His torn clothing gave him a pitiable appearance, and whether his backstory was alike to Matthew's or to Roel's Attila could not tell.

He knew all of their stories, even though they did not know that he did. From the hazy rags of sentences that had left their mouths when they had lain in front of him, after their turning, in sickness or traumatized panic he had constructed stories, had travelled far to find confirmation of them. They never talked about their past, and Attila as their leader knew why that was.

He devoted his attention back to the thin man in the casket, about as thin as Matthew had been after years of abuse, but for the new man it seemed to be more of his natural body shape. His features were fine, with high cheekbones and rather pale lips; his chest was heaving tremendously. If Attila went into the deep, dark corners of his mind he could find there the memory of his own transformation and the unspeakable pain it had brought him. He did not like going back to the cellar somewhere in Romania, to the smell of earthy potatoes and onions, to the metallic stinking breath of the vampire with the parchment skin and to the grasp of his spider-like fingers as he had sucked the blood out of him and injected his poison into his veins. Almost seventy years had passed since then but the memory still was as oresent as when he had awoken on a bunch of sacs in a dark corner.

A particularly loud gasp for air rapidly pulled him out of his thinking and he stared at the man, whose eyelids were fluttering like leaves in the soft summer breeze. He had never seen anything remotely as beautiful in his life, he thought, just as the man opened his eyes to reveal bloodred irises. His face seemed to be glowing, so hot was it, it emitted warmth alike to a wildfire.

"What did you do to me?!" he wanted to scream, but only a ferocious whisper came out.

"I did what had to be done," Attila said calmly but felt his heart beating in his chest as he heard the voice. Yes, there had certainly been a reason why he had claimed the man so quickly.

"I did not-" he began, but Attila shushed him and bent over him again, bringing his mouth to the man's ear.

"Tell me, what brought you here?"

For a moment the man hesitated, but Attila laid one icy hand against his burning cheek, causing the man to close his eyes and press close to the redeeming coolness like a cat. As Attila made a movement as if to turn away his hand he was almost frightened by the rapidness with which the man grasped his hand and put it back to his face.

"They came," he recounted with his eyes wide open, "for me and they hunted me down. Their eyes were yellow and they smelled like rotten meat, like carrion, like... death. And when they had cornered me they came closer and closer until something else jumped from the sky and they hissed and roared and howled and-"

"There's no rush," Attila said softly, interrupting him. In reality there was a rush, this was the phase which he would not remember later, the only phase in which Attila could make him one of his.

"Something jumped from the sky and I ran for my life and I ran and ran and ran and ran..." He sucked the air in sharply and ceased, his eyes still wide in horror.

"Nothing is going to happen anymore," Attila told him, and then he put his second hand onto the man's other cheek and kissed his dry, chapped lips as tenderly as he could, careful not to frighten the man even more than he already had. When he pulled away he looked him deep into the eyes, remembering all the men he had turned before. It hurt recalling their gazes, sometimes hopeful, sometimes hateful, sometimes, like now, shocked and something else that Attila could not quite put a name to.

"I have claimed you," he said hoarsely.

"Who are you?" The word came simultaneously from both their mouths.

"There will be time to find this out," Attila said.

"I have given you the ability to know who you are with me. Use it." The man stared at him, but he was staring beyond him, into a void of future that was his task to uncover. His eyelids were fluttering again, and before Attila could think he had kissed the man again, wilder this time, to keep him awake and not have him fall asleep before he had uncovered his name. As he pulled away this time his own cheeks would have been burning, had there been blood to boil. This had never happened before.

The man swallowed dryly, his head nodding upwards and downwards, his arms were trembling as he looked Attila into the eyes and said, before passing out once more, with a voice hoarser than Attila's before:

"Falk Maria Schlegel."


	4. Acerbitas

They were sitting around the roundtable, each riding their own train of thought, neither speaking with nor looking at each other. Everyone was anxious awaiting news from Attila concerning their guest, who would either be irrevocably a part of them from now on or needed to be buried in the next hours. Nobody could tell which it was.

When the door creaked their heads turned simultaneously, looking at Attila who entered without a sound and his usual somber expression, not taking a seat next to them. He cleared his throat before he spoke to secure his companions' attention, as if they had not been anxiously staring at him already, and smiled as the words came over his lips.

"I have successfully claimed him," he said, seeming to revel in the feeling these words gave him for a second.

"We welcome Falk Maria Schlegel to our company."

Charles smiled and nodded, Roel nodded too while Matthew kept staring at Attila with his breath held. Thoughts were rushing through his head, the main thing he was trying to answer was the question how he should continue living now. Everything had been perfect for a little while, during the time in which he had pushed the past away nothing had been able to hurt him. He had found Charles and Roel and Attila, a better family than he'd ever had - surely a rather fucked up family but one that took him in and cared about him - and now this should be taken from him again?

He forced himself to call his once-lover Falk in his head, because that was who he was now, no longer Christian. Maybe he'd forgotten about him already, a thing that he didn't even dare hope because Falk had so easily recognized him even in the delirious state in which he'd collapsed on the floor. Matthew couldn't have blamed Falk if he hadn't recognized him; he was sure that he would've looked more human as a vampire than he had when he had actually been human; but after all he was a werewolf and that had changed him significantly.

Still, Falk remembered him. And how couldn't he, after all the ways in which Matthew had hurt him? He'd fled from his lover, who had never been able to help him and had been destroyed by it. It had been a hurricane love, destructive and beyond good and bad. And they both had loved the way it hurt.

But now that he was here Matthew had no idea what he was supposed to do. He couldn't just act as if he'd never known him, that would never work out, the feelings were just too strong. He knew he'd left him in the most despicable way, but had he really had another chance? After he'd been transformed he couldn't have returned to his normal life and lies, and maybe it had been better that way. But how that the man who had once been the starring role in his life had returned to his side...

He had been so happy. Not truly happy, only superficially of course, hiding his past beneath him, but with Roel he had had the best time of his life, whereas with Falk...

Neither of the man had saved him. His transformation had saved him, had changed him, had made sure that he could be a better lover to Roel than he had ever been to Falk. Whatever choice he made, he was bound to hurt one of the two. And he loved them both, he loved them both like crazy...

"Matthew?"

A touch on his shoulder made him aware that his companions were staring at him. He shook his head in confusion, blinking at them, wondering what had been spoken that he had missed.

"I said," Attila said slowly, "I want to make him my companion."

And for the second time on this day something inside Matthew broke.

\---

Later, when the two vampires had vanished into the darkness to hide from the dawning day, Matthew and Charles were sitting by the almost burned down candles. Matthew stared into the flame, and finally turned to his brother.

"Can you believe Attila has made this... this guy we... he barely knows his companion?" he asked in disbelief.

"Attila knows what he does, I believe," Charles said, careful not to say anything that could provoke the wrath of either Matthew or Attila.

"Love can't develop that quickly," Matthew said briskly.

"Love?" Charles asked, furrowing his brows.

"Who's talking about love?"

"Charles, you really are as blind as a mole." Matthew rolled his eyes, his fingers drumming nervously on the table.

"Of course Attila wants to fuck him. Wouldn't be have put it more like 'our companion' instead of 'my companion'? And besides, we all know that 'companion' is basically vampire slang for what we'd call mate. So yeah, that Falk guy's really going to be Attila's mate, I guess."

"Oh..." Charles mumbled absentmindedly, processing what had just been said.

"Anyways, when d'you reckon he'll wake up?"

"Dusk." Matthew shrugged and stretched his arms. The sudden realization that their reunion was so close made him feel nauseous and his entire body shook for a second.

"I need to get outta here," Matthew said.

"We should go to sleep," Charles recommended, but Matthew didn't listen.

"I said I needed to get outta here."

\---

Out in the woods, breathing the clear air with its taste of pine needles he felt a little better, but nothing was able to overtake the nausea that had him in his grasp. He felt like he needed to get away, but where would he go to? He had nowhere to run. Until yesterday he could always have returned home, to his lover, hiding his condition and facing the past. Apart from the fact that he'd never ever have done that, his parents and siblings would probably have stoned him for running away.

He really had nowhere to run, but that didn't stop him from trying.

He ran and ran and ran, not wishing to undergo the transformation that would enable him to run faster and longer but instead willingly subjecting himself to the pain of the forest ground cutting into his bare feet and the stinging in his lungs. He ran until he believed he couldn't run any longer, and then he ran a little more and only when he realized that Falk had been in the entirely same situation in the previous night and when he saw the peak of the monastery's church tower in front of his eyes it came to his mind again that running was entirely pointless.


	5. Revisio

When Matthew opened his eyes in the evening to see the sun set beyond the forest he knew that this was the day that he eventually would have to face his demons. Running was no option anymore. If he rose now he would have to look Falk in the eyes, those eyes that were so painful trusted but had to look like Roel's now. He didn't know whether he could stand it.

His foot was aching where the cuts from the undergrowth were, blood stained the pure, white bedsheets. Matthew could feel his heart racing in his chest, his skin felt hot and flushed. So close to the full moon that was not unusual, but its severity surprised even Matthew. It had to have something to do with Falk being there now, he thought as he tiptoed over to the casket Roel rested in and refrained in the last second before he could open it and expose his lover to the dangerous remains of sunlight.

It pained him to have to sleep separated from Roel, but he couldn't sleep when it was fully dark and Roel had to sleep in complete darkness or else he would get seriously hurt. Still, especially on this day Matthew would have needed Roel desperately; someone to cling onto, someone to save him from drowning. His sleep had been restless and his dreams dark and troubled, blurred memories of sorrow, joy and hurt that had filled him with physical pain, always mixed with the ecstasy of loving Roel, where there had been no problems and no pain.

By the time it was almost completely dark Matthew was a hot, anxious mess. He listened closely to every sound - it could be as little as the rustling of the trees and he would startle, his heart beating even more rapidly than it had been before, his mouth felt dry even though he had drunk more than enough water to quench his thirst. Maybe it was not thirst at all. Maybe it was just fear.

As the sun had fully gone down his fingers were trembling and all his dreams were coming back to him. He waited for the first sounds from Roel and when the casket opened he jumped up and flung himself into his lover's arms, who embraced him with confusion written on his face. Matthew shook his head as he buried it on Roel's shoulder, and his lover pushed him gently towards the bed so that Matthew sat on Roel's lap, his smaller frame still allowing him to rest his head against Roel's shoulders and neck.

When they had sat there like this for a while Matthew removed his head, his breathing came ragged from his dried out throat. He swallowed spit he didn't even have and clutched Roel's arm, digging his nails into his skin.

"Ouch, you're hurting me," Roel said softly, prompting Matthew to lighten his grip a little and looked at him desperately.

"I want you to fuck me. Now."

"The full moon doesn't usually make you that horny, but I'm not complaining," Roel laughed.

Matthew tried to smile but his breath was shaky and a sob escaped him as tears welled up in his eyes.

"God, Matthew, what's wrong with you?" Roel had ceased laughing and looked seriously worried now as he cupped Matthew's face in his hands and cradled it gently. As Matthew avoided eye contact he pushed up his chin, only to have Matthew avoid his gaze further by staring towards the floor.

"Just fucking do it," he muttered angrily.

"I want to know what's the fucking matter with you," Roel demanded. Finally Matthew looked at him, almost desperately.

"You can ask questions later. Please. Just fuck me now."

Roel closed his eyes, taking an entirely useless breath that he didn't need to survive and that was probably meant as emphasis.

"Fine," he growled and crashed against Matthew, locking their lips in a hungry kiss. His fingers searched for the hem of the gray shirt that Matthew wore to sleep and as he untied his sweatpants it almost felt like his previous life. Except that he actually loved Roel. Or did he?

\---

Falk woke up surrounded by complete and utter darkness. He tried to breathe in but found no air streaming into his lungs. Panic overcame him. He turned to the side only to be stopped by a wall, turned to the other side to crash against another. He wondered how long he had been captured in here and why he hadn't suffocated yet. But as he lay there without a movement he did not feel the need to breathe.

His hands reached upwards, discovered a thin line that seemed to be etched into the material of his incommodious prison. As his fingers followed the line he found something cool, feeling like metal under his touch. A bit of groping on that piece of metal did the job and the ceiling of the human sized container allowed him to push it open. He was greeted by darkness.

"Welcome," a voice greeted him from out of the dark, a voice that made him recall a painful sensation. His hands rushed to his neck and he could feel two marks beneath his fingers, throbbing painfully as he pressed down on them and a little less painfully when he let go.

"Who are you," he called out into the dark, anxiously, "and what have you done to me?"

Somewhere in the room a light flared up, enabling him to see stone walls and soft, bloodred velvet around him. Was this a coffin?

Before he could pay more thought to it a silhouette blocked his view of the mesmerizing candle flame. It was the silhouette of a broad man with more than shoulder long hair, wearing a kind of black cloak that Falk had believed was long out of fashion.

"Who are you?" the man asked softly, kneeling down next to Falk and taking him by his hand to help him stand up.

"I am... Falk Maria Schlegel," he said, confused about his own words. He knew that not so long ago he would have answered this question differently, but this not-so-long-ago actually seemed like an eternity ago. Even more confusing was the fact that the touch of this strange man felt so fucking good that Falk could imagine following him into Hell. Which was a lot for a Christian guy.

As if he could have read his thoughts the man laughed and Falk felt strangely vulnerable. But it did not matter to him, he felt as if the man knew his soul already and Falk would not hesitate to give it to him if he only asked.

"Do not worry. All of this is normal for the beginning. You will learn soon enough. Oh," he added, "and don't be too creeped out about the cloak. It really keeps you warm."

The man winked at him, or at least that was what Falk figured in the dim light.

"Oh, and Falk," he finally added.

"I am Attila. And I am pleased to have you as my companion."

As Attila said those words Falk felt an incredible sense of belonging that he had never felt before, washing over him like a gigantic wave.

"The pleasure is mine," he said, smiled and accepted Attila's hand helping him to stand up. The warm feeling within his cold body lasted throughout the entire walk through cold, moonlit corridors through which Attila led him. But when they entered a room where Falk could spot three figures by a fire, the blood froze in his veins and his intestines coiled. Or at least that was what the feeling was comparable to.

For in the lap of a strange, bald man, his head resting on his shoulder so that his face was facing Falk, he looked into the eyes that he had loved even stronger than he belonged to Attila.


	6. Dolor

His face must have looked like a caricature of shock, so openly surprised and shaken was he. Luckily Attila, who had not let go of his hand but was holding onto it possessively, misinterpreted this shock and laughed.

"I know that this might seem strange to you, but we are very well able to live together. We even get along. You will get used to it, I promise..."

He continued lecturing Falk about things that he had no idea of, but the sound of his voice didn't reach Falk's ears anymore. They were focused on those beautiful, brown-green-ish eyes that were fixed on him as Benjamin put his head away from the other man's shoulder. Falk didn't even notice how tightly his fingers grasped Attila's until Attila untangled their hands.

"Anyways, would you introduce yourselves to Falk?" he asked, barely hiding the fact that it was a command disguised as a fact. The moon was even fuller than it had been the previous night, shining its light onto the five of them.

The man with the long, brown hair who looked so similar to Falk's once beloved that he was taken aback for a second was the first to stand up and shake his hand with his tight grip.

"Charles," he introduced himself, nodding for emphasis.

"Glad to have you here, although that means you guys outnumber us now."

Falk could just so hold himself back from asking "Excuse me?".

"Roel van Helden," the bald man said, nodding to him without standing up. And then it was Benjamin who turned to Falk, slowly and shyly, without stopping contact of any sort with Roel. He was like a satellite, Falk observed, and mad jealousy struck him and stung in his heart like poison.

"I'm- Matthew Greywolf. Brother to Charles." he mumbled, instantly alarming Roel who put a hand to his upper arm.

"Aren't you okay, Matthew?" he asked concerned, but Falk did not understand Matthew's - because that was who he was apparently - answer. He didn't understand the world anymore. How had Benjamin become Matthew... Greywolf? In a different situation he would have laughed about this name, but he was much too bewildered to do just about anything. And since when did Matthew have a brother named Charles, who looked like his twin above all? Falk had known his lover's siblings, Michael and Sabrina, of course he had known them, but they bore no resemblance to this man.

"Falk," Attila nudged him in the side, "would you please follow me?"

It felt good and bad to get away from Matthew. On one hand Falk wanted to drown in those eyes forever, like in their days when eternity had seemed to be theirs. On the other hand there was this feeling that all of this was horribly wrong, that he shouldn't even be here, and now that he was here he belonged to Attila, why he couldn't tell.

"The first days will be hard. Maybe even the first weeks, the first year," Attila began as they were on the corridor. Falk could hear the wind howling in the masonry and wondered how they did not freeze to death in here, though strangely he was not cold.

"But do not worry, I am going to guide you," Attila continued.

"I will be yours, as you are mine."

A shiver ran down Falk's spine. His mouth was dry, his tongue stuck to his throat.

"First of all I'd like to know what happened to me," he said quietly, only to hear Attila laugh.

"I'm surprised you haven't figured that out yourself yet," he said, but then his face became serious.

"I made you a vampire," he said, without further ado. Falk could not even begin to comprehend what he had just said.

"And I am going to tell you everything."

\---

Matthew's blood was boiling in his veins, almost literally. His face was so heated that he was pretty sure he wouldn't be able to kiss Roel at this second. Or Falk, after all he, too, was one of the cold ones now. All he wanted was to kiss Falk again, to run into his arms and embrace him and forget all the destruction he had caused in the past. He wanted everything to be like it had been. He wanted his love back.

His fingers were in a fist, his jaw clenched tightly. He went over to the window and pushed it open, letting the cold breeze blow on his face. It did not bring solace.

A growl escaped his mouth, he clenched his fists even tighter. He had to get out of here, had to make a way for all those feelings to escape. The only way to build a lane of escapism was to hunt, but he did not wish to undergo the excruciating transformation.

Or did he?

\---

There was blood in his mouth, flesh tearing underneath the claws that his fingers had grown into. Every bone in his body still hurt, his skeleton having been torn apart and rebuilt in a matter of seconds. The warmth of the fresh, thick, red blood was all over him, staining his body, sticking to his fur like glue that smelled of copper and possessed a taste that held the power to make him insane with both desire and disgust.

While his claws tore at the body that he had thrown himself onto, the deer whose soul was in the process of leaving its mortal shell tried to resist in vain. The attempts grew weaker and weaker, ceasing when his teeth sank into the neck's soft skin, bringing forth a fountain of blood that sprayed in every direction.

The empty corpse was like a toy beneath his claws. In the back of his mind he knew that this was a human still, but the blood lust defied every rationality that was left in his mind and brought him insatiable rage.

His teeth tore at the victim's flesh now, ripping out giant, bloody chunks of it until there was nothing but a bloody mess of flesh remainders left of what had been a breathing, feeling animal minutes ago.

The auburn wolf could not hear the howling that echoed through the night as a response to his ecstatic cries, he could not perceive the red, glowing eyes staring at him out of the darkness. He was sunken into his ecstasy of blood until something crashed against him all of a sudden.


	7. Readunatio

When he returned to their monastery, blood smeared around his mouth, the night was far from over which meant Falk would still be awake. With pain in his heart Matthew looked up the towering spike of the church's top; at the monastery building in front of him, recalling how much of a safe haven it had been until last night. He'd clung to it with all of his soul, he couldn't just picture it... gone.

He didn't know what to do. The only thing he knew was that he could not face Falk again, his warm, chocolate-brown eyes (he'd loved them even more than real chocolate) that were so trusted yet so strange- no, his eyes weren't chocolatey anymore! They were red now, signifying his belonging to the vampiric race... and to Attila.

Yes, Attila had claimed the man that Matthew had once (and still?) loved like he had loved no one else. It was just like the vampire leader to take what he wanted without paying attention to anybody else. But he really seemed to desire Falk, for he'd never have claimed him as a companion otherwise.

They'd all fucked Attila at some point, or at least Matthew had, whether it had been before or after he didn't know, and he took comfort in the unconfirmed belief that it was like an initiation rite into their community. This way the shame that connected him to his past was a little milder.

All this time Matthew had been standing in the yard where in the previous night they had found Falk, but now he knew that he couldn't go into the building and be close to, even in one room with him. It would bring him to his death.

So he turned his back on what he had considered his home, the second one he'd had in his life, taking up a faster pace until he was jogging. He cut through thick busted and thorny hedges until he reached a safely enclosed place by the shore of the nearby flowing river. Thickets surrounded it and the grass was high and uncut, speckled with yellow dandelion flowers. It was there that he kneeled down by the river, splashing his face with the crystal clear water to wash off the blood.

He didn't even realize that tears mingled with the stream water. Through all of this emotional odyssey he hadn't shed a single tear, but now that his mind had wrapped itself around the concept of not even being able to go near Falk it was just too much to bear.

He kneeled there for a while, his bare knees in the mud, and the memories started to get back to him.

Their first kiss. 21 and 23, respectively, had been helpless and shy - Matthew because he had never kissed tenderly before and Falk because he had never kissed a man before. Neither of them had known where to put their hands, because the waist just didn't seem right for Falk and Matthew didn't want to crush him in a passionate embrace as he was used to.

Their first time - Matthew had nearly been moved to tears by the gentleness with which Falk had acted.

The day they had moved in together. Cushions and paint splashes and their noses rubbed together with cheesy smiles on their faces. They had both kept the clothes from that day. Matthew wondered whether they would rot in their closets now that they were gone from the 'real' world.

The countless breakfasts in bed - neither of them could cook nearly as well as they wanted to cook, so burnt pancakes with too much sugar, scrambled eggs with sugar instead of pepper and overly sweet coffee had been on the daily menu. Sugar had been their thing, anyways, Matthew drank his coffee pitch black with an approximate kilogram of sugar in it, and tended to put extra sugar into everything. Falk had at some point started calling him 'sugar' and had taken up a habit of kissing Matthew's nose, dusting it with sugar and then kiss it off.

And of course every night that he had spent in Falk's arms, happy and content in the beginning, then guilty because he had cheated again and again and again and he just couldn't stop, because what Falk gave him was not enough, but Falk would never take him the way he wanted to be taken. All those nights he had lain awake in chronic insomnia, stared holes into the ceiling and wondered what was wrong with him. Sometimes Falk had woken up. Matthew had pretended not to notice and still today he could feel his gaze on him...

Matthew spun around, startled by the glowing of eyes in the darkness. A shadow detached itself from the blackberry thicket, approaching him until he could make out the form - of Falk.

"Why are you running from me?" he asked, kneeling down besides Matthew, caressing his cheek with one hand. Matthew closed his eyes, his expression was pained until he finally broke away from Falk's touch.

"I can't be with you," he whispered.

"Sugar, I've forgiven you everything," Falk whispered, and the use of the pet name Matthew had just remembered seconds before was enough to break him in two. He stared down at the ground, eyes burning, until Falk reached for his chin to force Matthew to look at him. Then he cupped his cheeks with his palms and kissed him on the lips so gently and shortly that Matthew thought it had to be a dream.

The second kiss came like a shock wave; Falk crashed his lips against Matthew's with a desperate force, starved for their touch after years of separation. They clutched each other like lifebelts, afraid of drowning without each other, drowning in the coldness of the world, and while the fireworks exploded behind his closed eyes Matthew thought that he would never want anything else again. Until he remembered.

Panting and sweating her broke away from Falk, reaching out with his palm stretched out to put it between them.

"Stop... stop! You don't understand!" he whispered, still hoarse from the kiss.

"You can forgive me all the way you want. This changes nothing. There's no way on earth we can be together."

"If there is no way we will make one," Falk said, fierce determination in his glowing eyes. But Matthew shook his head.

"You've seen it. You've heard it. You don't belong to me anymore, I don't belong to you anymore. There's no 'us' any longer."

"We've always belonged to each other and always will," Falk said, stepping closer to Matthew. But his ex lover drew back, stepping dangerously close towards the river.

"Maybe we do. Emotionally. Maybe we're like a fucked up kind of soulmates that is doomed to never be together because in reality we belong to someone else each."

He looked him in the eye, still not touching him.

"You've seen that you're Attila's now. You've seen that I'm Roel's. What more is there to say?"


	8. Praeteritum

When Matthew snuck back into the room that he inhabited together with Roel it was close to dawn. His hope that the vampire might be asleep already, however, were disappointed quickly, because as soon as he opened the door he was greeted by a soft, but strict and worried: "Where have you been?"

Matthew sighed deeply before he let himself drop onto his bed, next to Roel, without touching him the slightest bit. When his lover moved closer Matthew felt like crying again at the instant.

"Stop this!" he wanted to scream. "I'm not worth your attention. I cheated on you with the man I'm cheating on with you and if you realize how fucked up that sounds you can note down how fucked up I am!"

But he was silent. And even though he hated himself for it he allowed Roel to slide even closer and put an arm around him. He even rested his head on the taller man's shoulder, as he was used to doing already. Still he couldn't believe what had just happened, what was happening to him.

Dawn would break soon but Matthew wanted nothing else than to stay in Roel's arms, where the thoughts that preoccupied him did not scream quite as loud. But again it struck him why this was so - he knew nothing about Roel. And by nothing he meant nothing. He knew the way that Roel thought of him, but not the way Roel thought of himself. Not Roel's backstory. Nothing. And another thing struck him: if he did not find it out now he would never have the opportunity or courage to do so on another occasion.

So Matthew rolled off Roel, propped himself up on his elbows and looked his lover in the eye.

"We should go to the cellar," he said. His voice was agitated.

"What do you mean we should go to the cellar?" Roel asked, frowning. The cellar, as they both knew, was the only place where vampires could stay awake during the day due to the absolute lack of sunlight to break into those rooms.

"Trust me. Please. We might never get another chance."

\---

The door was locked. There was no going back now.

Roel looked around in the cellar room, looked at the brick walls painted black that enclosed the chamber in a manner that would drive any claustrophobic to insanity or death, while Matthew watched him carefully and closely, anxiously trying to read his expression.

"What are we doing here?" Roel asked finally as he turned towards Matthew who looked at him and shook his head very gently.

"What do we know?" he whispered.

"Matthew... you've been so different since Falk came," Roel said with despair in his voice.

"It's like I don't recognize you. And you don't... it doesn't feel like you're well." His voice softened considerably as he continued.

"I just want the Matthew I used to know back."

Matthew pressed his lips together, swallowing the lump in his throat.

"You never knew me at all," he muttered.

"What are you talking about?" Roel asked and finally Matthew looked at him directly.

"What do we know about each other?" he asked sharply.

"We presume to love each other but we don't even know where we came from! I know that the whole point of this community was not to talk about those things that hurt us but can we be close to each other without even knowing our real names?"

"Our real names are Roel and Matthew," Roel said sensibly. 

"And it does not matter who we were because we are each other's now."

Matthew threw up his hands.

"Don't you dare tell me that you were born as Roel van Helden!" he cried out. Roel cocked his head and looked at him.

"Yes, yes I was. Weren't you born as..."

"...Matthew Greywolf? What the fuck kind of name is that? Did you seriously believe-"

"Look, darling," Roel said, taking Matthew by his hand and sitting him down on the couch of crimson velvet in the corner.

"I was born as Roel van Helden in Lottum, The Netherlands, back in 1950. And while we're at it, I was born a second time in 1980, when I was captured by a half starved vampire by the name of Attila Dorn on holiday in Germany. Attila took me in, feeling guilty for transforming me without consent. I never quite figured out why he was starving at all but I forgave. And then, after years of solitude and hating myself for abandoning my family, a small pack of two werewolves including the most beautiful young man I had ever seen joined us. And since I'm with you I've never worried again."

Matthew looked at him, and that was when the first tear fell out of the corner of his eye.

"I love you more than the world, Matthew," Roel said softly, "and I will prove it by whatever means you wish. I could tell you everything if that meant you would keep loving me."

Matthew suppressed a sob. He was definitely crying too much lately, and his voice was still hoarse from the last time he had done it. There was no reason for Roel to be silent about his past except for the fact that everyone here was. Roel was so different to him. But now he had to tell him his story, and he hoped that Roel would hate him after.

"I won't pressure you," Roel said as if he'd read his mind.

"I need to speak up," Matthew whispered, and then he began with the tale that would rip open every scarred wound on his heart and soul.

"I was born as Benjamin, my surname does not matter here, in a Ger,man village in the very west of the country. I grew up happy and protected by my strict parents, and their attitude towards changed as I developed in a way that they had neither expected nor wanted. I was always drawn to music, which they accepted grudgingly, but then my life started going down the drain."

Absentmindedly Matthew's hand wandered under his sleeve.

"These scars are not from fights as a werewolf," he said simply.

"I did it all to myself. And that was not the end of it.

I had a wonderful boyfriend whom I loved tremendously, like a hurricane, the way I... the way I love you." He bent his head in shame.

"But he could not give me what I sought. I needed to be abused, belittled, choked and beaten and so I cheated and cheated and cheated but he always stayed with me, even when I went into a downward spiral of drugs and alcohol and he picked me up every night from increasingly terribly places and held my hair and gave me water and... you get the idea, right?" Matthew could not even see Roel nodding, but now the words were spilling out of his throat where they had bottled up for years.

"And one night, sober for once, I could not realize what I had done." Matthew's voice had grown into a whisper.

"I ran away fro m home that night, to be gone forever, it was a winter night and I planned to go to sleep in the forest... and I woke up a wolf, in the form of which I roamed on my own until I found Charles who managed to bring me back to life and who became my brother, I think. And when we found Attila and he bound us to him and I found you this was like a fresh start. I could run from all my mistakes but now... it's all coming back to me now."

Silence was between them for a long time, until Roel put both of his hands on Matthew's shoulders and kissed him on the forehead like a fleeting memory. 

"Matthew, darling, whatever past mistakes you have made... they are not mine to forgive," he said.

"All that you should know is that I love you no matter what."

"You will not forgive me for what I did today," Matthew whispered, turning away from Roel's gesture of affection.

"You will not forgive me that I have not stopped loving someone else despite loving you. And the reason why this is all coming back to me now is that that someone else... is here now..."

One look into Roel's eyes told him that he had understood.


	9. Desidia

"I'm so sorry, darling," Matthew said, his head bent in grief and shame.

"You still love him," Roel said mutely. It was not a question.

"But I do love you," Matthew replied desperately.

"I'm sorry but I find this hard to believe. You can't love two people at once, it's just... not possible!"

"Polyamorous relationships exist," Matthew reminded him.

"Not for me... Matthew... darling... look at me."

Matthew followed his order reluctantly.

"You know the saying that, if you fall in love with two people, you should choose the second one because if you had really loved the first you wouldn't have fallen in love with the second?"

"But who is the second?" Matthew whispered.

Roel approached him hesitantly. His hand wandered to Matthew's hair to caress it gently.

"Whatever you choose, Matthew, know that I love you. Please. And should you ever regret your decision, know that I will be there still. I would wait a eternity for you."

And that was all that was said between them. Again Roel kissed Matthew's forehead so lovingly that Matthew had to close his eyes. Then Roel left him, turning towards the velvet couch to lay down on it and close his eyes.

As he saw him sleeping, the hurricane love for Roel was back at the instant. Matthew tiptoed through the room towards the couch and climbed on top of Roel's muscular chest to lie down atop of humans rest his body there. He could feel Roel's saddened, bittersweet smile as he did so.

Only shortly before he fell asleep Matthew realized that Roel had spoken as though Matthew had already chosen Falk over him.

\---

Home. That was what Matthew was to Falk. His sugar, spice and everything nice. His love. The love of his life. There had been a time where Falk couldn't have imagined living without Matthew. Then he had had to get accustomed to it.

When Matthew had left there had been a gaping hole in Falk's heart. When Matthew had left his life hadn't been worth anything more. When Matthew had left Falk would have traded eternity for one last look at him. When Matthew had left Falk had at last begun to understand the demons that had plagued his beloved all his life.

There had been a time when Falk thought he didn't need anything but Matthew. Matthew back. He had been sure that there would never be anyone else again, even if Matthew never returned. And now that they were reunited there was someone else.

Falk lay awake in his casket. He wondered whether Attila was awake all the same, whether it was just a thing for vampires not to sleep or whether it were the thoughts that were keeping him awake. He had a feeling that it was the latter.

He was dying to get back to Matthew. But everything he wanted was to dedicate his life to Attila. He would follow him everywhere, even to Hell, Falk knew this. He didn't know if this was a thing that every vampire felt for the one who turned him, but he suspected that it was not. Those feelings were far too strong for everyone to just... have.

He tossed and turned in the limited space enclosing him. Couldn't imagine a life without Attila, a longer life without Matthew, an eternity without one of those to whom his love belonged. If he could have chosen he would have gone back to the time when Matthew had still been his. But he would also accept the time in which he had been alone. Just not... this shit.

\---

When Roel had fallen asleep Matthew lay awake and wondered if Falk was thinking of him, dreaming of him. It felt wrong with his body on top of Roel's, his head on Roel's chest. And suddenly it came over him that he had to get away from this very place.

\---

The daylight was burning in his eyes as he jogged out of the courtyard, pebble stones crunching underneath his soles. For how long hadn't he seen it? And from the moment he stepped out of the monastery's areal he knew that something was wrong in the forest, the trees of which dripping from humidity. He shivered but continued his way onwards, through the thick bushes.

Having left the area around their home from the side of the church instead of the front gate he found himself facing a high, mossy rock which they had used to climb back when they had still been for. How his life had been destroyed in the shortest time!

The woods grew darker as he continued walking.

A branch broke behind Matthew and he surged forward, quickening up his pace. He couldn't bear the thought of being followed, no matter who it was. It could not be Falk, Roel or Attila, and Charles wouldn't follow his brother in secret, and whoever might be walking there in secrecy certainly had no good intentions.

Matthew was trembling as he heard the crunching of fallen leaves behind him. He turned around quickly to see a shadow vanishing between the trees and he realized how far away he was from the monastery already. There was no hope of turning back now.

As a drop of water dripped onto his nose from above his head turned upwards automatically. His teeth were clenched is suspense, every muscle tightened. And then everything went very fast.

A shadow crashed onto him from out of the trees, moving so fast that it was but a blurred motion even in Matthew's heightened senses. And then the creature was hung on his neck, teeth grazing the surface of the skin before piercing right into it. He tried to shake off the intruder but failed in doing so.

There was poison in his veins, Matthew could feel it. Nothing had ever felt as hot, yet as ice cold before in all of his life. And that was when he knew it was a vampire. And he knew how deadly a vampire's poison was for werewolves.

He spun around but the vampire hung on his neck, not letting go. The more desperate Matthew's attempts became the tighter he seemed to grip - and then the teeth were yanked out of Matthew's neck abruptly and a crash and a crack was audible as the vampire's neck broke, and another sound of squeezing when his chest was pierced by a piece of wood.

Or at least that was what Matthew assumed happened, for his vision was fading and he stumbled back before tripping and falling - right into a pair of trusted arms.

"Charles..." he slurred sleepily.

"Matthew, do you hear me?" Charles asked, panicked.

"Matthew, are you listening to me?"

As Matthew only gave a slow nod in reply Charles lifted him up with wolfish strength and started running, running, running through the woods towards the home from which Matthew had intended to flee. But Matthew did not realize most of the way, for soon his blurry vision blackened at the edges to fade away and throw him into a haze of ice and fire fighting for his soul.


	10. Divulsio

"How is it possible that you have no idea what to do?" Attila asked Charles harshly, who looked as if someone had hit him in the face.

"The poison needs to be sucked out before it is too late," Attila went on explaining.

"Then what are we waiting for?" Charles exclaimed, taking a step towards his brother only to be held back by Attila.

"Not you, you idiot! It will kill you!"

"I will take that risk willingly," Charles replied, stubborn as he was.

"A vampire needs to do it. Only then it is safe."

"Then do it or get another vampire to do it, now!" Charles begged. His hands were trembling like an earthquake as he was facing the thought of losing his brother, something that he, thanks to their complete isolation, had never had to feat before. After all, a silver bullet was all that could kill a werewolf, and how would a hunter ever find them? As it turned out there was another way...

As if on command the door opened and two figures came in at full speed, so fast that one could barely make them out. Of course it were Falk and Roel, as Charles saw when they slowed down, both with naked fear in their eyes.

Charles approached Roel quickly, putting a hand on his arm. Roel shook it off.

"What happened?" he asked, his voice quivering.

"A-" Charles began but he couldn't phrase it. The shock had now permeated his flesh and his bones to his marrow and he was suddenly standing in front of the naked facts: Matthew, his brother, would die if no one did anything soon.

"You need to suck out the poison. Please."

"He was attacked by a strange vampire," Attila explained quietly before he turned to Falk and put an arm around his waist to lead him out of the room. To Charles' - and Attila's - surprise, however, Falk shook off the arm and exchanged a ferocious glance with Roel; and it was in that moment that Charles knew they shared a knowledge of something deeper, only he could not figure out what it was.

"Let me stay here," he said hotly, casting an abject glance at Attila, their leader and his own companion. But Charles had never seen so much distance between two people as in this second.

They were gathered around the crimson velvet couch in the darkened cellar room, where Matthew lay so frail and weak that they thought he had to break at any moment. His skin was abnormally pale, his veins seeming to pierce through the parchment-like texture of it. His chest was barely moving from breathing. The vampire's poison was turning him into a vampire, too - a dead one, though, not an undead one.

"I'm doing it," Roel said after seconds of tense, strained silence. Charles could see Falk's hand letting go of Attila's which he had been holding unconsciously, the touch obviously initiated by the vampire leader. Something within Falk's eyes seemed to break in this blink of an eye, so short a moment that it might appear void to anyone, however Charles understood that this moment had the power to turn Falk's world upside down. He just didn't understand why.

Roel meanwhile had kneeled down next to Matthew and brought his mouth to Matthew's throat where the two small, stippled bite marks were. He put his lips to the wounds and acted as if to kiss them, only that he actually sucked on them.

After a mere second his eyes widened and he clenched his fist so tightly that his bones must have broken had he been human.

Attila looked at him, he was instantly alarmed, but just as he made a motion as if to jump towards Roel, Roel's hand found Matthew's lifeless, cold one and held it while he continued sucking on his neck. You could see blood and a clear substance running down his cheeks, dripping from his chin. Matthew's blood mingled with the vampire's poison, the blood having been what had nearly made Roel lose control over himself.

The strain in the room was tangible. Falk was watching the procedure with his widened, broken eyes while Charles had his own eyes closed, hands clasped in prayer to a god he did not know. Probably he was just praying to Roel. Even Attila was watching Roel breathlessly - it was a habit for the vampires to breathe in despite not needing it, and right now Attila was simply forgetting about it.

Nobody could tell for how long they had lingered there like this, but finally Roel desisted and exhaled, turning towards the others and nodding shakily. Falk threw his hands up in a gesture of thankfulness, and, forgetting all about his new life, kneeled down next to Roel to cup Matthew's face in his hands.

"Oh Ben," he whispered tearily.

Attila froze.

"How can you know?"

Falk closed his eyes before he turned towards Attila.

"I just know," he said shakily, not sounding quite convinced himself.

"How. Do. You. Know?" Attila repeated, walking towards him with his hands outstretched. 

"There's no use in denying it, Falk. How do you know?"

"I love him," Falk whispered as his dams broke.

"I loved him and I love him. I loved Benjamin more than any other human has ever loved another. And then he was lost."

"That's bullshit!" Attila cried out.

"You're my companion. I've made you mine. It's impossible for you to fall for someone other after."

"After, but not before," Falk whispered.

"I never stopped loving him, not to this day, and I never will."

"No, you do not!"

Attila had reached Falk and grabbed his arms to yank him up, away from Matthew. Tears were streaming down Falk's face now.

"Don't make me leave, please. I need to see him!"

"You'll never see him again, that I can promise you. You. Are. Mine." Attila said violently, proceeding in pulling Falk out of the room. His begs and pleads echoed throughout the monastery as they got further and further away from the cellar.

"Okay, what the fuck," Charles said to himself and Roel, who looked at him; and from this feverish look Charles could sense that something was not okay.

"What's the matter?" he asked alarmed, but Roel's knees had already given in and he sank to the ground with a suffocated cry in his throat.

Charles ran to catch him before he hit the ground.

"The vampire's poison," Roel groaned in Charles' arms, "it- it-"

"Don't speak," Charles said.

"I will take care of it."

But Roel pushed away his hand violently.

"You can't suck out the fuckin' poison, I ingested it! And besides, it'd kill you!"

"He loves you more than he loves me," Charles said and he was talking about Matthew.

"But he needs you more," Roel whispered as his powers faded.

"You're his big brother. Take good care of him."

Roel tried to squeeze Charles' hand once more but his power was gone. The veil of tears that blurred Charles' eyes did not leave, tears dripped down onto Roel's lifeless face as Charles cursed the vampire, cursed Matthew, cursed fate. The tears only lessened through the agonized scream that he heard after what might have been hours, when he was unexpectedly pushed from Roel's side by his brother.

"No," Matthew repeated over and over again as he cradled Roel's face, cradled the much taller body in his arms. His wailing and his sobs echoed throughout the monastery halls, but no one was there to hear it but Charles. Roel would not come back.

After a while Charles wrapped his arms around Matthew from behind, softly pulling him away from the dead body of his lover. He cradled him just as Matthew had cradled Roel, he held him tight and, crying, he whispered in his ear:

"It's just the two of us now."


End file.
